Long he fenghuang
by obessioncycle
Summary: When the life London Kirkland once knew is torn away from her, she must learn to love the new destiny she has been married into. A China Wang Yao /London Kirkland OC fanfiction. I wrote this for my friend who create the character of London.
1. long he fenghuang

龍和鳳凰- Lóng hé fènghuàng (Dragon and Pheonix)

-The little red silk sack sat on the wooden table. The tea sacs inside released a soft fragrance. London poked at the little sack, feeling its smooth texture. "Arthur!" she beckoned as she saw him enter the room. Her brother turned to her, his blonde hair bobbing softly in his surprised reaction. '

- "London" he smiled, "I didn't see you there!"

-"We received something in the mail," she smiled.

-"Hm?" Arthur approached her curiously.

-"It's addressed to…well, it's supposed to be for me, I supposed. I wasn't _addressed_ to anyone. IT was brought here by foot. Someone came and personally delivered it," she explained remembering the elegantly clad Chinaman who presented it to her that morning.

-Arthur looked at the red sack and quickly turned his gaze away. "That was nice," he said in a constricted voice.

-"Yes, but I don't know if I should accept it.."

-"You need to accept it!" he exclaimed, his voice ridden with anxiety.

-"I don't even know who it's from! I only saw the man who delivered it! I recognize neither the courier nor the gift!"

-London sat deeper in her chair as if it would protect her from her unusually overexcited brother. Arthur hung his head.

-"You need to accept these gifts," he muttered

-"_These?_" London had only remembered receiving one.

-"They are from Yao, Yao Wang."

-"China?" she asked. She had seen Wang several times in her youth, but didn't remember him with any sort of emotional connotation. She had hardly been near him enough to even say she _knew_ him, let alone was on talking or gift-giving terms with him. She gazed at the sack and to her brother, confused. It all came together now, though. The red silk, the Chinese man, it seemed so obvious. What she didn't understand was what was making Arthur so nervous. He was a mess, in a single moment he had totally destroyed his neat hair by grabbing at it and began sweating profusely.

-"Yes." he replied. His voice sounded sick, like the nauseas voice of a person ill with a horrible stomachache.

"Arthur?" she asked, concerned.

He looked at her. He was dewy looking and his eyes were lit by paranoia. His limbs and lips trembled as he opened his moth to reply.

-"It's your wedding gifts."

-The information didn't process. "What?" she asked.

-"Wedding gifts" he repeated. The world seemed to turn in slow motion. He ahd to be kidding. He always pulled jokes, she told herself. She wanted to start laughing, but the sweat dripping of his face told her he was telling the truth.

-"Wedding gifts?"

-"It's Chinese tradition to send the bride gifts as a type of—well, actually I'm not sure." He stammered.

-"Who am I marrying? Did you tell your friends I was getting married? I should have expected you to tell some story you couldn't get out of," she sighed and even laughed a little. For a moment, he had actually terrified her, but she could see the situation all too clearly now. It wouldn't be the first time Arthur had told some story to try and make himself seem impressive while he was drunk with his friends. He almost always told such ridiculous tales that no one ever believed him even when they were equally stupid and intoxicated. This time, he had simply blurted that his sister was getting married, and never had the bravery to face them and tell them it was a lie. All she had to do was kindly call them and explain—

-"No, I arranged you to be wed."

-Her fantasy shattered into pieces. "What?"

-Arthur stepped nervously side to side. "You'll be happy! It's for the—"

-"What do you mean 'arranged'?" she shouted, infuriated. She was still sitting, but her anger roared in her voice with the full power of a man standing prepared for a brawl. She would have very much liked to stand and prepare to beat her brother; bus the shock of the revelation forced her in her seat. She was scared and angry. Englishwomen were not forced into arranged marriage! It had been years since she had even heard of that! She was London, the little sister of Arthur Kirkland. He had promised her since childhood a beautiful wedding. She was going to marry her prince, her dream man. The broken shards of her childhood dreams glimmered in the light of this new knowledge.

-"you're marrying a man I thought best…"Arthur tried to explain.

-She laid her face in her hands. Terror drove back tears. She tensed and tried to fight back her emotion. She felt as if she needed to protect herself, that a threat was darting closer to her; a feeling not unlike those in her deep battles with her and Ludwig decades ago. She tensed, but the only other person in the room was her brother, and at first she could see no threat. She glanced at him and realized with horror that he was the enemy who she sensed and fell motionless, her heart torn with sorrow. She was beyond helpless and hurt; she would surely be destroyed if her brother truly was her enemy, for she could never fight him.

-"wh—Kirklands marry for love!" she choked.

-London couldn't decide what to do first, cry or punch him. She was sad and to her, this meant she was weak. For the longest time, the only way she could cope with feelings of weakness was to lash out and attack or fall into despair. But the longer she looked at Arthur, the more she realized she could never hurt him—and the more she wanted to. Her mind was scrambled, tangled in shock.

-"you _are_ going to be married to Yao Wang," he declared, a form of courage manifested in his voice.

-Her heart stopped. The air she breathed refused to reach her throat. She chocked as the air finally rush through. How dare he command his own little sister to allow him to break his promises to her?

-"No!"

-She grabbed the table. It was childish, but it made clear sense to her to curl up in a small ball on the chair. She wanted to scream—she had never felt so furious. A tantrum waited at the door of her throat.

-"London," Arthur called.

-She turned away.

-"London," he called again.

-"How could you sell me away like that?" a sharp pain grabbed at her spirit and pulled deep in her hut.

-"I didn't sell—"

-"Don't you tell me that!" she roared, standing suddenly. The chair slid away from her with a horrible sound as it dragged its weight along the floor; the table shuddered from the collision with her body and the chair.

-"What do you mea-"

-"Do I mean do little to you, _brother_?"

-"London, you mean the word!"

-"No, I just mean a way of obtaining what you desire!"

-"What?"

-"Am I just chattel to you? How could you? You _gave me away_!"  
-"London!"

-She held her head tightly between her palms. Was he too drunk to realize what he had done when he arranged it? Too embarrassed to go back on his words. She didn't know Wang! She was so broken by the betrayal that her mind could hardly piece together an excuse for him to protect him from the rage burning inside her. Hot hears burned at the skin around her eyes as she realized that she could make him no excuse.

-"you…wicked—you are a horrible brother! You never think about what I want!"

-A stream of hurtful phrases flew off her tongue, hurting her and him equally the moment that she said them. No matter how hard she tried to speak gently, a horrible urge kept her saying half-truthful insults.

-"you must hate me! Why couldn't you stop thinking all about your dumb man friends and consider _me_ first! You never considered me first! You threw me to Ludwig in World War, you made me hold the heads of your enemies! You never really loved me at all! You're horrible!"

-Arthur's face blanched and fell. A terrible sadness glowed in his eyes. Her words had done their job; piercing his heard. London felt ready to apologize, but her brother spoke first. "London, there's nothing you can do, you're marring Yao."


	2. long he fenghuang 2

Ch.2.

-London turned and silently left the room she was sure to hit every door and wall in the hall as she marched toward escape—wherever she might find it. As she walked she realized she had no desire to leave but nowhere to hide while she was in her own home.

-She unconsciously stumbled into her own room and closed the door.

-She threw herself onto her bed. She lay there, fully immersed in her European bed, her European room, her European furniture. She caressed her embroidered comforter. In her soft, comfortable seat she gazed painfully at the Westminster clock tower which stood proudly in the view of her window.

-"Just kick me out of my own home!" she shouted sarcastically. A teary sigh heaved deep in her chest. She felt nothing now; she was hollow, unsure of which emotion to trust. A stream of tears flooded from her eyes and a deep cleansed feeling washed through her body. Though her stomach ached with each trembling breath, the relief that came from the tears was liberating. She cried freely for immeasurable time until she heard a soft knock at her door.

- She wiped away her tears and sat up in case anyone entered. Arthur stepped in, holding open the door with one hand, and a tea tray in the other. He closed the door with his foot and gingerly stepped to the bed. There was a regretful look in his eyes.

-"I was worried you may be crying," he whispered, laying the tray on the end of the bed.

-London sniffled. "How long has it been?"

-"An hour. I brought you tea," he offered.

-London glanced uninterestedly toward the tea. Arthur took the small, pointed tea pot in one hand and titled it over the delicate cup lying on the ray. The harsh herbal aroma swirled in the air as the steamy dark tea filed the cup. He took the cup and saucer in his hand, but London refused to take them. He put them back.

-"London?" he asked, "you always want tea. I even left it black, because you were upset." London said nothing.

-She felt more miserable than ever. She wanted to be grateful that he made her tea, that he remembered she took it black when she was upset. She wanted to adore the horribly strong scent of the tea her brother always steeped too long. But it was his fault that she was in pain, and she couldn't excuse him.

-"Do you want something else?" he asked.

-Again, nothing.

-"London," Arthur's tone changed, he was speaking frankly, " I really think you'll understand. You'll love him. Yao is a close friend."

-London scoffed.

-"Not as close as Francis or even Mathew," he finished taking up the framed photo of Francis, London and himself that she kept beside her bed, " but I knew him quite thoroughly. He's a nice man, and he's generous. I know you'll be happy."

-"I don't want to marry Wang," she replied tonelessly.

-"It's been arranged. He's preparing as we sit here this moment!"

-"Tell him it's over."

-"I can't. That the thing about this sort of wedding. Unless both sides want to cut it off, you can't change anything in a Chinese wedding."

-"Arthur, I've never been so far—"

-"You'll love it in China."

-"I want to stay here!"

-She was almost calm now. Crying had exhausted all her energy. "Arthur, I want to be home."

-Arthur took her hand roughly and kissed it in apology. His breath shuddered sadly. He looked her in the eyes, his own sparkling with hears. "London, my worst regret was that I didn't tell you. Maybe you wouldn't hate me if I had told you. I was just so afraid you'd be angry, I never said anything. It's been quite a while since I hadn't said anything. I'd promised I'd inform you," he coughed as tears slid by this throat," when the first gift came. But I couldn't. I promised I'd wait until the second came, but I took that one to. I think I pretended that if you didn't know, you couldn't leave. I'm so sorry."

-London felt the blood drain from her face. "how many gifts am I to receive?"

-Arthur kept his head lowered, "well, you found the fifth. You should receive, nine in all," he coughed more, "the next four you will receive in China."

-London's heart stopped. She almost wanted to disappear.

-"When am I supposed to go to China?"

-"You leave on Monday."

-It is Monday." Had he made a mistake? She longed that he made a mistake.

-"Next Monday."

-"Arthur!" she cried in agony of sorrow, fear and anger.

-Arthur pulled the red silk bag from his jacket.

-"He's a wonderful man."

-With that, he left her room.


	3. long he fenghuang 3

Ch.3

-London smiled the stem rising from the cup and gently took a sip. The tea was strong, the rough bits of lose leaves stung her tongue. It was an oddly relaxing feeling: the strong flavor, the instant heat. She admired the cup in her hands. It was her favorite: the tiny handles spiraled this way and that, and the gold leafing on the edges of the brim were faded and old. She admired the designs painted around the body, pink and white. There was a magical feel to and English teacup.

-London put her tea bag on the tray and fell onto a pillow. A dull emotion resonated in her. She couldn't identify it, but it buzzed like the vibrations of a broken carriage on a bubmby road, inside of her. A knock sounded at her door. Instantly, a violent mood overcame her. She took the dandle lamp beside her bed in her hand in defense. A small sound was outside the door, then nothing.

-London really wanted to do something with the lamp now that she was holding it, but wasn't sure what, so she set it back. Cautiously, she stepped out of bed and to her door. She stood alert as she peeked outside, ready to smash at her brother with only her bare hands. No one was here. She knew no one would come to her without a reason, and looked at the ground. A neat stack of parcels lie before her. She picked them up in her arms. They were dense for their size, but not terribly heavy. She took them back into her room, closing the door with her for as her brother had. She was quite happy she had set down the lamp; she couldn't have carried all of it in one trip.

-She set them on her bed and sat, cross-legged, beside them. She simply looked at them for a long while. She didn't want to open them, but she was curious, and her polite nature told her she should at least look at his gifts.

-Three of the parcels were wrapped in bright red paper and looked very formal. The last was a large box, wrapped with brown paper and string, stamped from all over the world. She hated that Wang went through such trouble.

-She took the silk tea sack her brother left in her room and put it beside her as she took a small red parcel from her collection. She held it in her hands for a moment, her heart racing. She slowly pulled back the paper to uncover a tiny cardboard box. The box was taped, but easy to open and filled with red tissue. Gingerly, London reached into the box and felt around. A loop of bead fell around her hand; she pulled it back, taking the object with her. A small bracelet of round, green bead sat in her palm. It was simple but pretty, the light from the room bounced off its deep color dreamily. London reached back in with her other hand and felt about. Another lumpy object was inside. She drew out a small stone turtle on a fine chain. She loved turtles. It was a perfect gift. Guilt pulled at her spirit—"if they weren't the price to own me, I would love all of this," she said to herself.

-Before she could think on it, she took a long box into her hands. It was slender and curious. She gently unwrapped it and opened the cardboard box under the wrapping. Another layer of red paper danced out from it. A large black hand fan lie delicately on top of the red wrapping. Entranced, London picked it up. The hinge was looser than English fans and it fell open with an impressive thundering sound like a flag whipping in a powerful storm. She jumped a little at the sound and turned to fan toward her. A large ornate dragon in vibrant colors stretched across the fan, snarling regally. In her fascination she nearly for got her disappointment in the situation. She turned the fan in her hand. It was quite large and very impressive. She nearly smiled as she laid it beside her.

-She took the last red box in her hand and unwrapped it . A black cord wrapped around her fingers when she reached int. Out of the crinkles of the paper, she drew a simple black cord necklace, with a small Chinese coin strung on it by the hole in the center. A note fell out with it, folded neatly.

-She unfolded the paper which expanded to and incredibly large size. Her heart skipped as she laid her eyes on the characters. Before she could remind herself that the gift was from China, she realized there was no kana. She grew frustrated, unable to read the calligraphy all over the page. She flipped it over. A nearly printed letter in English was written in the same solid ink.

-London,

-I hope these gifts bring you happy and in good spirits. Take this coin as a hope for your luck until I see you here in China. Much luck and joy should be yours with this

-Wang Yao

-It suddenly reoccurred to London that she would soon be in China, for from all the things she had ever known. She irritably put the note and necklace to the side. She almost didn't open the last package, but thought it would leave a lingering wonder.

-She tore through the string and paper, not interested in the nations it passed by in her aggravation. She felt a bitter hear in her heart where curiosity and happiness usually was. A beautiful red box, tied with golden ribbon and adornments glimmered under the brown wrapping. She was, at the same moments impressed and sickened by the beauty. Why must he have sent her such beautiful things? And why were they all red? Was everything to be red?

-She opened the large box and revealed a thick red book, inlaid with gold designs. She roughly tossed it into the pile. How on earth did he expect her to read Chinese? She couldn't even read his letter let alone this. She turned over on her bed and lied in her pillow.

-Her disappointment in herself and all around her split her in pieces. She didn't want to do anything.

-A sick reality pulled her from the bed—she would be leaving in a week and she needed to be ready. She slid to the floor and reached under her bed. She pulled out a heavy trunk. London looked around her room-not ever thing would fit. In fact, she wasn't even sure what she would need. How long was she going there? Life?

-Overwhelmed, she took the discarded wrappings off her bed and carried them in a ball to the kitchen.


	4. Long He Fenghuang 4

Ch.4

-Arthur was in the kitchen, working passionately on some terrible-smelling meal. He nearly jumped when he saw London come in.

-"I needed the trash, not you," she said coldly.

-"oh, well…Alfred's having supper with us tonight, so clean up," he said dejectedly. The moment he said it, he seemed to regret his tone.

-"I won't do a single thing just because you order me to do it," she snapped, dropping the wrappings into the dust bin.

-"You opened your gifts?" Arthur asked.

-"Of course."

-"Are they nice?" Arthur asked, cordially.

-"They're ok," she was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how she felt.

-"I suppose they're traditional," he explained.

-"yeah, you know so much about Chinese tradition," she snapped sarcastically.

-"Alfred probably does. He works with Yao all the time!"

-London rolled her eyes. A sudden idea came to hear—she was bound to have some books on China in her vast library. She would check those later.

-"Alfred wouldn't know. I will be in the library."

-She started to leave, but turned back to Arthur. "By the way, what on earth _are_ you trying to cook?"

….

-"Hey, London! You know what Arthur and I are always telling you about eating all that rice! Your eyes are going ot go slanted!" Alfred laughed from the other side of the table.

-London played with her large pile of rice in her bowl. It was her third helping, but she never really thought about it: rice was her comfort food; it had no restrictions to her. Alfred stopped laughing after a moment as neither Arthur nor London joined in on his humor. Appreciative of the quiet, London dejectedly picked up the knife and cut the large hamburger on her plate.

- "whoa, there! You don't _cut_ a burger! You just dig into it! Here, do it like this!" Alfred interjected, demonstrating by taking his burger in his hands and taking a colossal bite.

-"I'm through eating. Excuse me," London muttered. She really was hungry, but she felt too sick from her stress to take another bite.

-"you hardly ate anything but rice! You gotta eat some beef now, you'll lose your English-ness completely! Turn Asian!" Alfred stammered his mouth partly-full.

-"Hmm. That doesn't seem to e a problem with other people," she scoffed, standing.

-"If you're afraid of y9our brother's food, "he continued," actually, it's darn good! I can't believe he actually made an edible burger! I love it!"

-"Thank you, I made them," London sighed, pushing in her chair.

-"you? Woah! They're sooo great!"

-London couldn't help but smiling at Alfred's joy. It was only a burger, but to him, it was his life and purpose.

-"I love cooking," she responded.

-"You should hang with Francis!"

-London stared at him for a moment. She knew she was related to him, but could hardly believe it. She had been with Francis her whole life, since before Alfred was even thinking about his own land. He didn't even remember that his own sister had indeed "hung out" with Francis, his close friend. She almost shook her head in laughable shame. "He says I'm not fast enough, but for home-style cooking, he values my work," she replied

-"That's hard to do- get a compliment from him! Hey! You seem down, you alright?" he asked between bites.

-"I'm not sad, you just shout a lot. It sounds like I'm being quiet."

-"man, you _are_ really really upset! You totally should talk to us. What's up? I will save you from you misery. It's what I do."

-London nearly laughed again, but she shook her head and picked up her plate. A sudden idea occurred to her.

-"Do you know anything about China?"

-"Want or the rules of his house, or like what? The man or his land?"

-"Either"

-"He's a great cook!" Alfred Exclaimed, "he makes this chicken that's all sweet and called orange chicken! So good! And noodles and—"

-"I'm not even close to China and I know he simply made that as a gift for you. He would never eat food so rich and oily as a main part of his diet," she sighed. He would be of no help. With that, London took her plate and left.

-"did you have to make that Asian comment?" Arthur asked dully when she was out of the room.  
"What? We used to say it all the time?" Alfred mumbled.

-Their voices faded as she paced down the hall. She fled to the library and shut the door, plate still in her hands, the bowl of rice balancing on top. She slammed her back to the door. Hot tears burn again in her eyes. She felt utterly alone, she was lost. Her family sat in a dining room, mocking her and giver her away. She dragger herself to the ornate armchair beside the pile of books she had pulled out earlier. They all related to China and it's customs. She sat, not touching a single one.

-A horrible empty felling ate inside her. It wasn't comfortable. "Better seat some beef! You'll lose all your English-nesss!" Alfred's voice echoed in her mind. She hurriedly took her hamburger into her hands and tired to eat as fast a possible. It didn't help at all, but tasted bland. She nearly chocked as tears started to shake her body. She swallowed to avoid the pain of the struggle to breathe. The buried her face in her crossed arms, silent tears flooding her.

-After some time, her body felt weak and hunger returned to her. She ashamedly looked back at her dinner, sitting on a small table nearby. The burger smelled fantastic, she knew it was flavorful. However , she knew it would taste cold and plain to her. The connotation of burgers as more than she could bear.

-Her rice sat cheerfully in its little bowl. London smiled. Possibly, it was all the crying that made her loopy, but the rice made her _really_ happy. She laughed softly out loud. She weakly rose from her seat and put her hand between the cushions. She knew they shed put them somewhere. She felt around—ah there they were! Chopsticks. This was her favorite armchair, and she always had it stuffed with odd London felt she always needed with her.

-She took the tonsil out of its case and held them between her fingers. She took the small owl in the palm of her free hand and began to eat slowly. The sweet, solid smell was a deep comfort. Even though the rice was cold from sitting, it was like a comforting, warm, dressing robe. London snuggled into her chair, eating.

-"Silly, London. Why can't you be a normal Englishwoman?" she said softly.


	5. Long He Fenghuang 5

Chapter 5

-A soft pair of lips gently brushed London's cheek, waking her from her sleep. "Bonjour, ma fille doux," a warm voice muttered softly, "did you sleep well?" London blinked her eyes open, anxious to see the man beside her she instantly recognized to be Francis Bonnefoy. The back of his gingers gently stroked her face as he spoke again. "I brought you some breakfast because it doesn't look like you ate dinner last night. " London felt instantly embarrassed as she remembered she had left her dishes about the place last night. "Alfred said you were irritable, Are you alright, ma petite Chou?" His voice was sweet and comforting and had the same tone he used with her when she was upset as a child. His voice seemed honestly innocent and questioning. Did he not know what her brother had done?

-"Je suis d'accord. I'm alright," she sighed, her yes still adjusting to the bright light let in from the open drapes. She leaned to sit upright and realized she still had the rice bowl in her lap, but it was empty and the chopsticks had fallen somewhere in her sleep. Her back was stiff from sitting in a still position.

-"Eat, s'il te plaît,' He insisted, "You look pale."

-This was his favourite joke to pull on her-she was pale since birth thanks to the grey British skies.

-She smiled and puller herself to a full sitting position. Francis took the small bowl from her lap and placed a large, warm bowl of wheat porridge in her hands. She looked at the bowl for a moment. It was beautifully presented, topped with butter and sugar, but it was still a very plain and British breakfast. "It's a bit plain, Francis, I'm surprised,' she commented as she took a bite. A rush of rich sweetness danced on her taste buds. It tasted much better than when her brother made it for her.

-"Oh, chère, I only make that to get you back to health. I made the best to lift your sad attitude- French food!" he beamed at her with his brilliant white smile and sparkling blue eyes. He placed a beautiful platter of crepes, berries and cheeses on the table beside her. London chuckled weakly, "That's much better."

-She would have liked to smile fully or laugh whole-heartedly with him, but the numb pain from the previous night and a new pain from seeing Francis weighed on her. She looked down at her bowl silently.

-London had known Francis as long as she could remember. She could still recall when he would swing her onto his shoulders and carry her high above the ground. He had taught her most of her favourite things: art, literature—food. French was her second language, but she had come to use it so often that it came as naturally as English. He had always been a strange sort of comfort and protection when her brother's attempts at comforting her could do no good. She loved him almost as much as her brother, she realized. All he had ever done wrong was instantly forgiven the moment he looked at her with is bright blue eyes, before he could even utter "Je suis desolè". She looked in his eyes now and realized that this was where those memories would stop.

-She practically threw the bowl in her hands onto the table and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. He was already on his knees form kneeling to talk to her, but that wasn't enough. She pulled him as close to her as she could, nearly tumbling him to the ground with her weight. Tears streamed from her eyes again- how she hated these tears and the weakness they showed, but for Francis, she could spare both them and her strong reputation.

-"Francis, my heart will surely break without you," she sobbed. Gripping the back of his head, which was nestled over her shoulder, gently in her hand. She felt the smooth and wavy hair under her fingertips, trying to remember each strange. His strong face was painful against her. His whiskers scratched at her cheek as she laid her face against his and put a soft kiss on his cheek. He smelled flowery and musky at the same time, a scent she hoped she'd remember for as long as she could.

-"ooh, what is this mademoiselle?" he laughed suggestively, " I knew you'd want me." He laughed playfully, indicating his jesting. He tried to pull her face into his hands to smile into it with bright eyes and let her know he was only joking with a glittering grin. London pulled her head from his hand and wrapped herself tightly around him.

-She felt him struggle in surprise for a moment before sitting, resigned. "Well, if you're not going to eat any of this I will,: he said persuasively , taking a strawberry off the plate over her shoulder, " and as you're not going to tell me what's wrong, I assume you won't eat. Or mind if I finish your meal."

-Just as he had when she threw a tantrum as a child, he attempted to taunt her into talking out her problem. She realized as she sat there, wrapped entirely around him, that Francis never changed and never would. She supposed, likewise, she would have to use her old childhood tactics as well.

-She sat up and wiped her eyes with her sleeves so he wouldn't see her eyes all wet and puffy. She decided that it would be best to try a more dignified version of their game. "No, we can share, I don't mind. Thank you for breakfast," she offered kindly, hoping he would give in to her polite manners.

-"No. Ugly sobbing British girls don't get French food, " he said tauntingly, nose up at her.

-Shock and anger flashed through her like fire. "Please?" she said as sweetly as possible.

-"No," he replied thoughtfully. He was forcing her to beg and she hated it. She had not officially been forgiven for her behavior until he allowed her to eat his cooking, and she knew it. As much as she wanted to be forgiven, she abhorred the thought of begging: Englishwomen did not beg.

-"Please," she pleaded kindly.

-Francis took another berry off the plate and held it high above them both as if thinking about it. London's childhood seemed to be playing before her own eyes.

-"No," he responded teasingly.

-London knew she could not both please Francis and keep her dignity. He made as if to bite the fruit, but dragged it on slowly and dramatically watching her irritatingly the entire time. She swallowed her own bitter pride and sighed. "ahh," she moaned irately, holding her mouth open like a baby bird an closing her eyes as to not see his delight at her horridly humble apology. Francis gently laid it between her teeth.

-She instantly took the strawberry between her fingers and held it in her hand rather than her mouth. -"You can't do that to me Francis, it's not nice." She grumbled.  
-"Can't I, alouette?" he laughed, "How else can I assure that you really really mean it?"

-The answer was obvious; he apparently could do that.

-"My word. You know I don't just apologize to say it. "

-"But it has much more meaning like this. Plus, it's a family tradition now," he smiled.

-London shook her head and lifted the berry to her mouth to take the first bite and realized there was already a large chunk missing out of it. London sighed, "You tricked me. I demand a full berry," she muttered, but took a bite nonetheless.

-"Now, what's wrong, ma chère?" he asked brushing her hair behind her hear and stroking her cheekbone gently. London silently continued munching. She didn't want to talk about anything. Least of all did she want to tell Francis that this could be their goodbye. She looked him in the eyes again. They shined so dearly back it almost drove her to tears again.

-She searched her past, but she couldn't find a single memory when she didn't know Francis. As far as she remembered, he had always just been there. His very pervasive presence often drove her brother to frustration and even anger, but it had always been soothing, a comfort to her and it made her memories worth keeping. She loved him enough that her brother even named him her godfather, even though they nearly hated each other. He mind hated her brother terribly at the moment and she was even more glad that Francis was there.

-"I'm just fighting with my brother," she sighed. She tried hard to play it off.

She watched him through the hollows in the wall. His long black hair fluttered around his face gracefully. He blinked his long eyelashes and turned slightly, just far enough to give London an impactful view of his undeniably lovely face. A tremulous emotion filled London as she looked in aw at the man who was her husband. His eyes neared her window. She quickly ducked behind the wall and pressed her back to the wall. He was beautiful, but he still terrified her in some way. She could not have his es meet hers. He was still a stranger. A stranger in her new home. A stranger in her hall, a stranger at the table, and a stranger in her bed, a stranger who she was forced to love. She closed her eyes and pushed back the terror in her heart and peeked through the gate again. He was several feet away, all that was visible was his long black hair trickling down the back of his silk suit.

He smiled at her as he always did. His face looked bright and cute as usual. But there was something missing from his eyes, a glow a light. He smile blaknely and yet in his eyes sparkled misery and tears. His mask seemed less believable today also. His lips fell without hesitation into a solemn fromn. He looked deeply disaapointed, disaapointed in everything. He turned away from London and stared in the distance. A horrible pain hovered all around him. He was empty.

He no longer looked at her when she passed, but would turn his head in her direction,refusing to look over his shoulder completely. He was unable to not ackwowldege her, buthe pain grew in his eyes everythime her heard her, until it pained London to allow herself to be close to him.


End file.
